


Dream Only By Night

by Blue_Five



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell hath no fury as a wronged Druid turned Darach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Derek awoke with a start, phantom images of the dream dancing just at the edge of his memory before dissipating like so much smoke. Except for eyes ... amber and full of heat. Derek came to himself with his hand outstretched. His fingers ached as they strained to touch the mist-form that faded away. Derek blinked and blew out a soft breath. The anxiety that always accompanied the dream left much slower than the images it generated. He felt as if something important were being forgotten but that to remember would be even worse.

“Your dream-boy keeping you up again?”

Derek let his hand fall to the quilt and pushed the last remnants of the dream away. He turned with a smile. His husband, Jackson, looked at him from the other side of the bed, lying back against the pillow. Sharp blue-green eyes looked at him from a nest of wrinkles – Jackson missed little where Derek was concerned. He knew the dream bothered Derek. It always had but they’d never been able to tie it to any event in Derek’s childhood up until he met Jackson. The amber-eyed man just remained a mystery.

“What dream could beat the good-looking guy I see laying right here?” Derek said, leaning over to press a kiss to the cool, translucent skin. A gnarled hand fluttered dismissively at Derek but color crept up Jackson's neck.

“I haven't seen good-looking in a couple of decades, Der,” Jackson murmured around a yawn. “And it'll take a little more than simple flattery to get a piece of this.”

Derek laughed aloud. He was 96 to Jackson's 94 ... their days of hot and sweaty sex were long behind them never mind Jackson's rheumatoid arthritis. Derek threaded his fingers into Jackson's sparse white hair. His husband hummed contentedly and closed his eyes. Jackson shifted and Derek simply kept stroking his husband's head when he saw the wince and a controlled exhale.

“Is Cody Jr. coming over today?” Jackson asked sleepily.

Derek forced himself not to sigh. Jackson was an old hat at ignoring his 'aches and pains' as he called them. Derek went along because to do otherwise would spark his husband's temper -- _that_ certainly hadn't lost any vitality due to age.

“Of course he is ... can't have great-grandparents with such an offensive yard. What will the neighbors think?” Derek chuckled. He grinned Jackson continued to mutter about their youngest great-grandchild, twelve-year-old Cody.

“You'd think that kid would have better things to do than hang out with a couple of creaking bags of bones like us,” Jackson growled.

Derek drew his fingers down Jackson's face and smiled as the turquoise eyes opened to look at him. “I can tell him to come back tomorrow, Jax. You don't need to strain yourself --”

Jackson's gaze narrowed and Derek rolled his eyes, holding his hands up. “Fine, my stubborn one ... but he can wait until later this afternoon. It's too hot to bother with until then.”

Jackson's non-committal grunt told Derek he wasn't averse to the idea. Derek got up, stretching and twisting to loosen his own elderly frame. He certainly had his own ‘aches and pains’ but so far nothing too debilitating. He was happy … his life had gone exactly how he’d wanted and he was determined to spend every remaining moment of it with Jackson.

He methodically removed his sleep-shirt and laid it on the bed. He caught his own reflection in the large free-standing mirror near the closet. What had once been smooth and tone now hung slack and pale – his tattoos were faded and his hair was no longer dark but silver.

“And you call _me_ vain?” Jackson croaked from the bed.

“Hush,” Derek muttered as he went into his closet to choose his clothes for the day as well as Jackson's. “Do you want to wear a button up today or just a tee?”

“Do I _ever_ wear just a t-shirt?”

“I'm just asking, Jax,” Derek returned.

It was familiar, their back and forth – comfort in the familiar had become one of their daily routines, like taking their many medications. They woke, they sniped, and then Derek came to help Jackson to his walker and into the bathroom. Long ago they'd invested in an accessible bathtub/shower – Derek shaved, brushed his teeth and slid in his bridge while Jackson ran his own bath and took care of his ablutions. It made Jackson feel less helpless and the warm underwater jets helped ease his pain for a while.

By the time Jackson was done, Derek was ready for his own shower.  Jackson stood in his waffle bathrobe and did his own teeth brushing and shaving along with sliding in the dentures he loathed.  Derek would dry off and help his husband dress. A loving kiss and they were off to fix breakfast and watch the news. Derek often smiled when he considered how different it was from their youth when they could barely be bothered to eat breakfast or watch TV because there were simply too many other things to accomplish.

Derek glanced over at Jackson as he cooked their usual egg whites and multigrain waffles. The biggest difference was Jackson’s growing inability to stay mobile. In his youth, Jackson had played lacrosse and gone on to semi-pro – he’d been physically fit and active all his life until the RA had worsened. Derek’s heart ached to see the man he loved so deeply in such pain. No matter how Jackson tried to hide his discomfort, Derek knew.

“Derek,” Jackson murmured, not looking up from his tablet. “Can you finish my breakfast and then go back to staring at me?”

Derek sighed and went back to cooking. He served breakfast and gave his husband his coffee. Jackson caught Derek's hand before he could pull it back.  The grip was nowhere close to the bruising one Jackson had once possessed but it held Derek in place all the same.

“Der ... I'm alright as long as _you_ don't make a big deal about it,” Jackson said softly. “I know – I know it bothers you ...”

“Jax, it doesn't --”

“ _Yes_ , it _does_ bother you, Derek,” Jackson insists. “I wish I didn’t have this … I wish you didn’t have to worry about me, but it is what it is. I wouldn’t change a thing because I’m with you just like we always said we’d be – together forever, old and gray.”

Derek kissed Jackson's forehead. “God, I love you.”

“And I love you ... it's going to be ok, Der,” Jackson said, running his thumb over Derek’s hand and wedding band. “We were meant to be together forever.”

* * *

After a long day of visiting with their great-grandson, Jackson and Derek turned in early. Jackson loved spending time with any of their large brood no matter the generation. It had taken them years to adopt their first son, but they’d eventually taken in two more boys and one little girl to create their family. Days like today left Jackson nostalgic for the moments spent chasing a naked toddler down the hall after a bath or gently talking Derek down from homicidal thoughts against their daughter’s first heartbreaker.

He looked up at the moon which was fat and round. Derek had his disturbing dream and Jackson always felt unsettled around the full moon. Derek’s amber-eyed stranger pulled at him in a way he couldn’t understand. For Jackson, it was a vague feeling that being with Derek was _wrong_ somehow. It had nearly derailed their wedding which had coincided with a full moon – Jackson had bolted three days earlier, suddenly afraid he was making a huge mistake. Derek’s patience and love had convinced him otherwise, but every time the moon was round and pearly white, Jackson wondered. Even now, 76 years after their wedding day, Jackson sometimes found himself wondering if he’d moved too fast – if he’d given himself to one man too quickly.

“Idiot,” Jackson muttered to himself, turning away from the window. “94 and still jumping at shadows … stupid old man.”

Jackson shuffled slowly to the bed and eased himself down to sit. He reached over and took his husband’s hand, feeling tender as always because of his doubts. Derek’s hand was cool. Jackson’s tears started a moment later because with one touch he knew – the moon had taken what was hers.

_“_ _Deeeeerrrrrrrreeeeekkkkkkk!_ _”_

* * *

Jackson jerked awake screaming. He gaped in terror at the unfamiliar face in front of him and twisted his head back to escape the rough hands cradling his face.

“Get away from me! Derek! Deeeerrreeekkk!” Jackson wailed, trying to look around and unable to.

“Jackson! Jackson over here! Get the fuck away – let me see my husband! Jackson!” Derek’s angry voice boomed in the small room.

Jackson cut his eyes as far to the right as he could but he couldn’t see Derek. He saw a tall, slender young man with a shock of brown hair stumbling into his view with one hand pressed tightly against his mouth, his head shaking back and forth.

“Jax? Jax?!”

“I’m here … _here!_ _”_ Jackson slammed forward and realized that his head, wrists, waist and legs were all bound to a frame, stretching him vertically.

He was hanging in what looked very much like a dungeon – a prisoner.  He wasn't about to go easily, old or not.

“Help! Somebody help us!!” Jackson yelled.

“For the love of –“ An older and less gentle voice snapped.

Jackson screamed when something hard pressed against his ribs.  He was certain his heart was going to stop -- 94 was too old to be tasered.  Jackson vaguely heard Derek screaming in concert but consciousness faded too quickly.

Derek froze when the man holding the shock rod stepped up to him. The tip crackled only inches away from his chest. The young man who’d been in front of him when he awoke moved quickly and pulled the arm holding the rod away.

“Peter! Get the fuck away from him!”

Peter rolled his eyes and stepped back. Derek couldn’t help the tears streaming down his face.

“Please … please … is he ok? Is Jackson alright? I’ll do whatever you want … please don’t hurt him. He’s 94 for God’s sake … is he ok?”

The young man jerked and his expression was confused. “94? Derek, he’s not …”

“Stiles, allow me,” Peter said.

Moving back into Derek’s line of sight, the man with the shock rod examined Derek closely, eyes narrowed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“My – please … is my husband alright?”

Peter sighed dismissively. “Yes, yes, he’s fine … now tell me your name.”

Derek froze and trembled. “I don’t believe you,” he said hoarsely. “He’s dead, isn’t he? He couldn’t have survived that … he’s not strong enough.”

Stiles shoved Peter aside and reached up to Derek’s head, ignoring the way the man jerked at the touch.

“Easy, let me … just … undo this,” Stiles grunted. “There … move slow, but you can turn your head –“

Derek looked around so quickly he nearly knocked foreheads with Stiles. The sharp inhale and stunned gasping brought a new concern.

“Derek? Derek … easy, easy … you're going to hyperventilate,” Stiles protested.

“That’s not – not – where’s my Jackson – where’s my husband?!?” Derek gasped, ignoring the frantic voice.

Stiles took Derek’s face between his hands and forced him to focus. “Derek … that _is_ Jackson. You’ve got to try and remember.”

“Remember? Remember what?” Derek asked.

“Your life, Derek – you’ve got to try and remember your _life_ ,” Stiles pleaded.

Derek looked at the young man – he’d awakened in an insane asylum. The thought occurred to him that perhaps _he_ was insane. He shook from head to toe and looked over at the man they were insisting was Jackson.

Derek couldn’t understand what he was seeing or how he’d ended up in this hell. His last memory was of Jackson watching the moon before coming to bed. His adored, gray-haired, arthritic husband with dentures removed and stooped frame supported on a walker – the love of his life had not seen the strapping, muscle defined body hanging from a metal frame beside him in 68 years. He looked back at the one called ‘Stiles’ and suddenly realized the young man’s eyes were amber.

Derek threw his head back and howled before fainting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain ... I don't even know where these things come from ...


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson opened his eyes slowly, his chin resting against his chest.  He didn’t understand the anger roiling through him.  He felt hot and out of control in a way he’d never experienced.  When his head came up, he was snarling savagely and hefelt like an animal almost … his entire body felt powerful and primal.  Jackson whined, suddenly afraid of what he was feeling.  He could hear what sounded like a thousand different heartbeats in the room along with smells – so many smells and little noises.  He shook his head trying to make everything quiet down.

Suddenly, a familiar visage appeared in front of him, large hands framing his face.  Jackson snapped at the person before his brain registered who it was – a deep spiced leather scent wafted over him and he could almost feel the rage building in his chest begin to bleed away.

“D-d-derek ..?” Jackson said, his voice rough and unfamiliar.

“Hey, handsome … yeah, it’s me,” Derek murmured softly.  “Need you to calm down so we can talk, ok?  Can you do that?”

“You – you’re –“ Jackson stammered.

“I know, babe … take a deep breath for me.  I know you feel like you’re about to fly apart but try, ok?” Derek asked gently.

Jackson sucked in a shaky breath and then another and another.  Eventually, the heat and anger dissipated and he felt like normal again … as close to it as he could, anyway.  When could stop trembling, he looked at Derek again.

His husband was no longer the nonagenarian he’d loved for so long – instead, the younger Derek from their 20s crouched in front of him, his green eyes shining with tears and concern.  Jackson wanted to reach up and touch his lover’s face but his hands were bound behind him.  He growled softly, feeling trapped and not liking the sensation.  Derek frowned over his shoulder. 

“I did what you asked and he’s calmed down – let him loose,” Derek snapped.

Jackson followed Derek’s gaze and saw four men standing a few feet away, watching them.  He recognized the tall slender one and the asshole that had electrocuted him but he didn’t know the other two.

“Who --?”

Derek held up a finger.  “Come on – introductions later, let him _go_.”

The man who’d shocked him took a step forward and Jackson jerked back.  Derek held out his hand, palm facing out.

“Yeah, not you, asshole,” Derek said.  “You … uh, Stiles is it?”

The slender young man stood but not before pain flitted through his features.  Jackson could _smell_ the anguish pouring off Stiles.  It made him uneasy deep inside in a way he couldn’t define … like part of him wanted to run over and nuzzle the boy until he smelled better which made even less sense.  He whined … then jerked at that unfamiliar noise.  Derek’s gaze turned back to him and he leaned into the palm pressed against his cheek.

“It’s going to be ok, Jax.  I have no idea what the hell is going on but _they_ know and they promised to explain once you were awake and … settled,” Derek explained while Stiles walked behind Jackson and undid the handcuffs holding his hands behind him. 

Jackson winced as he moved his arms, letting circulation begin again.  He rubbed his wrists and looked up at Stiles as the man moved back to his seat.

“Thanks,” Jackson offered.

Stiles nodded shortly and walked back to the sofa.  He sat down and was immediately comforted by one of the others.  It was then that Jackson noticed the green eyes fastened on him.  The man looked to be about Derek’s age and had blonde hair.  He wore a law enforcement jacket of some sort but that wasn’t what caught Jackson’s attention.  It was the intense look he was giving Jackson – like he could see straight through him and knew everything he tried to hide from the world around him.  The only other person to make him feel that way was Derek.

“Well then, _now_ for the introductions,” Peter said.  He motioned at each of the young men in turn.  “Jordan Parrish, Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski.  I’m Peter, as you know, and you are Derek Hale and Jackson Whittemore.”

“ _Hale_ ,” Jackson corrected.  “Jackson _Hale_ – I’m married to Derek.”

Stiles made a choked sound and turned to head for the door.  “I can’t do this … let me _go_ , Scotty … I _can’t_ …”

Scott drew Stiles aside.  Derek and Jackson saw them whispering, but they could hear them as if the conversation were happening at full volume.

“I can’t stand here and _watch_ , Scott.  They’re fucking _holding hands_ , Scotty … they honestly think they’re married!” Stiles hissed.

“Of course we think we’re married – that’s what I’ve been _trying_ to explain,” Derek inserted.  “Saturday, April 15, 2014 … seventy-six years ago.  It was a full moon.”

“Derek … how old do you think you are?” Peter asked.

Derek frowned.  “I’m 96 … Jackson is 94.  This body … I don’t even know how it’s possible but I’m not complaining … yet.”

Stiles walked back to the couch and flopped down.  “Great.  Awesome.  He thinks he’s a senior citizen.”

Jackson’s temper flared again.  “Someone needs to start making sense … just _tell_ us – we’re not children scared of the dark!”

Jordan stepped forward then.  “You were attacked and taken prisoner by a dark druid – a _darach_ – and she cast a spell on both of you.  You’ve been unconscious for two weeks.  It’s 2020 … Derek, you married Stiles.  Jackson, you married me.  Oh and you’re both werewolves.”

Derek and Jackson looked at each other and started laughing.

“Oh my God,” Jackson said between gasps.  “I swear to God if I wake up and find out this is some hallucination brought on by you slipping me weed again, I am _so_ going to kick your ass.”

Derek snorted.  “If you can _catch_ me, old man.”

The laughter faded when they realized that no one else was joining in … in fact, tears were streaming down Stiles’ face and Jordan had turned to look out the loft’s large picture window.  He wiped at his eyes almost angrily.  Scott had one hand on Stiles’ shoulder.  Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Wait … you honestly _believe_ what you just said?” Jackson asked incredulously.

“Well, let’s take inventory, shall we?” Peter said.  “Maybe you’re both dreaming … highly unlikely.  You definitely aren’t in your 90s, that’s easily apparent.  You’ve already noticed that your temper is short and you can hear, see, and smell things you were never able to before … so perhaps everything we just mentioned isn’t so far-fetched?”

“This is insane!  I have a _life_ and I _remember_ it!  I don’t remember _any_ of – of whatever the hell _this_ is!  And why would a – dararach or whatever want to make us forget our lives?” Derek snapped.

“Because we weren’t able to save her mate,” Stiles volunteered softly.

Jackson’s gaze met Stiles’ and he startled.  His hand shook as he pointed at the young man and looked over at Derek.  Stiles’ eyes were whiskey-colored.

“Is he --?”

Derek shrugged.  “I don’t know … the eyes are right but –“

“What are you two talking about?” Scott asked, curious.

Derek frowned.  “I’ve had a recurring dream ever since I met Jackson … I never remember it but it leaves me pretty shaken up every time.  And there’s someone with amber eyes just like Stiles’.”

Stiles’ face lit up.  He gestured wildly. “That sounds like your real memories are trying to bleed through the spell -- maybe there are holes in the false life she gave you … Deaton could possibly punch through and let your real memories out.”

“Wait, wait … our _real_ memories?” Jackson asked.  “The life I remember right now is my _real_ memory … what happens to that if this Deaton person starts screwing around?”

Everyone looked at Peter who frowned thoughtfully.  “Good question … my guess is that you would lose the false memories … they’d be overwritten--”

“No.”

All eyes went to Derek then – Jackson let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding.  His gaze met Derek’s and he knew they were on the same page.

“What do you mean … ‘No’?” Stiles asked, his voice strained.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest.  “I mean I’m not giving permission for you to wipe out my _life_.”

“ _That_ ,” Stiles said, gesturing at Derek.  “Isn’t your life … _this,”_ Stiles sketched an arc over his head.  “All of this is your life … this loft is yours.  You bought it two months before we got married without telling me.  You bought it for the life _we_ made together … the life _you_ swore we’d go through _together_!”

Stiles’ voice broke toward the end in a sob.  He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to stifle his sounds of grief and the tears seemed real enough to Jackson.  He looked over at Derek and had to swallow the lump in his throat at the unhappy look on his husband’s face.  Jackson had spent too many years as part of Derek’s world to let go so easily and for such an insane reason. 

Jackson cast about for something to say but he ended up looked at Jordan, who was standing quietly but who looked utterly _shattered._

“I don’t know what to say,” Jackson said.  “I don’t remember you … I remember Derek.  I remember _him._ ”

“It wasn’t real.  The _darach’s_ magic just makes it seem real,” Jordan replied.

“Everyone keeps saying my memories aren’t real, but they are so clear in my mind.  Not like you -- I don’t have _any_ recollection of you.  What I _do_ remember?  My sons … my baby girl … I remember raising them … I remember walking my little girl down the aisle with Derek on the other side of her … I remember holding my first grandchild … and the eleven that followed … I remember my great-grandson Cody coming over to mow the lawn yesterday before … before Derek … “

Jackson paled.

“What … Jax, what is it?” Derek asked, hand on Jackson’s arm.

“You – it was a full-moon last night … you know how I hate those …” Jackson stammered.

Derek nodded.  “I know, babe … I saw you at the window … I knew you’d have a hard time getting to sleep ...”

Derek cupped Jackson’s jaw and his thumb gently stroked there.  His husband’s blue-green eyes were full of tears and Derek could feel how upset Jackson’s was – he pressed a kiss to the familiar forehead. 

“What happened, Jax?”

“You were gone,” Jackson whispered.  “I sat down on the bed and touched your hand and you – you were gone …”

“That proves it then!” Stiles barked, startling everyone.  “Don’t you see?  If he was dead in real life, how is he standing here?  That’s probably what triggered you to wake up – the event broke the spell’s influence on one of you so it freed both of you.”

“Stiles … I don’t think they care …” Scott said softly.

Derek was holding Jackson tightly against him, murmuring soft nonsense to ease the tears.  He looked over at Stiles and the others with eyes shimmering red at the edges.

“I love Jackson … maybe this is the real world … I don’t give a shit.  I know what I _feel_ and I know what I _remember_ … I’m not losing that.  I won’t,” Derek said firmly.

Stiles hugged himself tightly.  “But it’s not _real_.”

Jackson wiped his face and looked over at the young man with one arm still around Derek.  “It is to _us_ … every image, every sound, every smell … _everything_.  We can’t just _forget.”_

“Neither can we,” Jordan offered sadly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading -- I love you all and your support means more than you know.

Derek sat on the hotel bed.  It had been decided that, for now, Derek and Jackson would stay in a hotel room to allow all parties to ease into the situation.  Derek looked down at his hands.  They were broad, tan and strong with thick blue veins webbed along the back trailing into the dark hair that covered his forearm.  He made a fist and reveled in the strength behind it.  Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to just close his hand tightly like this and not have pain shooting along his bones.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Jackson asked from his spot at the window.  He looked down where he was opening and closing his own hand.  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to do this?”

Derek nodded.  “You were 82 when it started hurting worse than you could stand – you couldn’t hold one of the babies.”

“Now I feel like I could …” Jackson broke off and did a quick handstand.

“Jackson Lloyd Hale!” Derek snapped.  “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?!  You’re going to –“

“What, Derek?” Jackson smirked as he easily stood upright again in front of his husband.  “I’m going to _what_?”

Derek looked up at Jackson.  The blue-green eyes he adored looked down at him and the light sprinkling of freckles Derek kissed daily seemed to stand out across his husband’s nose.  Gone was the paper-thin skin and frail, twisted frame – Jackson’s body was tone and firm just like his own.  Derek reached out and let his hands slide up the back of Jackson’s jeans until they palmed the younger man’s backside.  He squeezed gently, hearing a soft huffed laugh from above him.  Derek closed his eyes and groaned, his body responding to Jackson like it hadn’t in some time.

“Oh my God,” Jackson gasped, his own erection rather painful.  “Der … we can – _fuck_ _yes_ …”

Jackson’s voice went rough as Derek quickly unzipped his jeans and jerked both them and his boxers down long, muscled legs.  Derek stared at his husband’s cock jutting out proudly in front of his face and he spared no time in sliding his mouth over it.

Jackson whined and jerked forward slightly, his fingers clenching in Derek’s thick hair.  His body was drowning in sensation overload.  He knew this body in front of him as well as his own … and yet somehow, Derek’s physical touch felt off.  Jackson couldn’t explain it.  He could see Derek’s mouth around him, could feel the soft tongue sliding along the vein underneath but it still felt like someone else was touching him.  Derek sucked hard at that moment and Jackson lost all thought other than the climax that ripped through him.  A low growl reverberated through Derek’s body and he grinned when Jackson jerked with a short but powerful aftershock.

Derek gently cleaned Jackson with slow licks of his tongue.  He kept the confusion he felt off his expression – Jackson didn’t taste _right_ somehow.  He knew the flavor well enough – God knew they’d done this more times than either of them could count since their first few dates – but it didn’t seem to belong to Jackson in a strange way.  Derek pushed the worry aside and focused on the half-lidded eyes regarding him over a lazy smile.  He toed off his shoes and let Jackson pull off his jeans while he tugged his shirt over his head and removed his own jeans.

Naked against one another, Jackson and Derek kissed slowly for what seemed like hours.  Their cocks brushed gently against one another, sparking soft moans and growls from both of them.  Neither man commented on the disconnect between the kisses and the body in their arms.  When he closed his eyes, Jackson would swear it was someone other than Derek sliding hot fingertips up and down his spine.  He pulled back and looked at his husband.  He rolled them over so he straddled Derek’s hips and reached out to brush a stray lock of hair back.  Derek smiled until Jackson’s arm froze mid-motion and the turquoise gaze filled with sudden tears.

“Jax?  Baby, what is it?” Derek asked, alarmed.

Jackson held his left hand by the wrist and stared at it.  In all the years he could remember since marrying Derek one thing had been constant – his wedding ring.  He’d taken it off maybe four or five times in his long marriage.  Even when they both got thinner and frailer, the rings had been resized by their oldest son as an anniversary gift so that they were never without them.  Grabbing Derek’s left hand, he pulled it up and stared at the empty finger.

“Derek … our rings … where the _fuck_ are our rings?!” Jackson hissed.

Derek gaped at his finger.  Over 76 years of marriage, his ring had left a permanent crease in his skin.  In fact, as he thought on it, the skin on that finger should have had a pale fish-white line marking where the gold band sat every day of his life.  Instead, there was nothing but perfect tan skin. 

Scrambling for the mobile phone Peter had provided them, Derek scrolled through the few numbers until he found Peter’s contact.  He dialed and it rang twice before a soft voice that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up answered.

“Yes, Derek … how can I help you?”

“Where are our wedding bands?  Plain gold bands,” Derek demanded, putting the phone on speaker and setting it between them.

“You’ve never worn a wedding band, Derek,” Peter replied.

“Stop it,” Jackson snarled.  “I put the damn thing on his hand the day we got married.”

“In your false memories, yes.  In reality, you marked your mate the way all werewolves do … you bit him,” Peter said.  “And Stiles returned the favor with help from oil made from wolfsbane that Deaton created … you should have the scar on your chest if I remember correctly.”

Derek looked down and made a soft noise of surprise.  There, on his chest was a bite mark … two crescents of small bumps where teeth had broken skin.  He ran his fingers over it and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Yes … sensitive, isn’t it?  And you can bet Stiles felt that in the mark _you_ gave _him_ ,” Peter explained.  “Jackson has a similar bite on his right shoulder, just where the muscle meets the neck – Jordan tends to be more dominant in his claim.”

Jackson stalked to the full-length mirror near the bathroom.  He ran his fingertips over bumps that were larger … the bite had been deeper for him.  Jackson sank to his knees and stared at his reflection.  Derek ended the call and knelt beside Jackson.  Tears were trickling down his husband’s face – and for the first time, Derek hesitated to put that title on Jackson in his mind.  His lip curled up as he forced the doubt away.

“Jax … Jax, look at me.  Baby, I love you … I can’t – whatever they say doesn’t matter.  I _know_ I love you.  I _know_ I do,” Derek whispered.

“What if it’s a lie … what if …” Jackson looked helplessly at Derek.  He held up his hand.  “I should have your ring right here but my hand looks like I never wore one … _ever_.  And whatever the hell _this_ is?  Who fucking _bites_ someone to show their love?  What is going on?”

Derek took hold of Jackson’s shoulders.  “I don’t know, Jax.  I just don’t.  But I don’t care – you and I will figure it out.  We’ll find out if this really _is_ the truth or if they’re fucking with us to make us _think_ it’s the truth.  I remember what my baby boy looked like when he took his first steps and when he graduated from high school.  I can’t believe … I _won’t_ believe that was just a dream!”

“But what if –“

“Jackson, do you still love me?”

Derek almost cheered when he saw familiar heat blaze in eyes suddenly dark blue.  “How the fuck can you ask me that?  Nothing … _nothing_ is going to change that.”

Derek pulled Jackson against him in a hard, bruising kiss.  Jackson opened to him and suddenly Derek just wanted to _take_.  He stood, pulling Jackson with him back to the bed.  They fell together, Derek’s leg hooked around Jackson’s thighs to lock them.  Once there, Derek swiftly flipped them and pinned Jackson beneath him, grinding their cocks together.

“ _Derek_ …” Jackson groaned.

Derek ignored the soft plea and pressed even harder against Jackson; his own cock was dusky rose and leaking.  He shuddered at the sensation.  Dipping his head, he kissed Jackson and nudged his legs apart.  Derek knew they had no lube but he hadn’t forgotten their younger days of ‘making do’ when caught out.  He ran his hand over the head and drew the pre-cum down over himself.  He then held his palm up to Jackson who licked it slowly and wetly.  Derek knelt between his lover’s thighs and lubed himself with one hand while prepping with the other.  Jackson moaned softly at the sight and the stretch.  He ignored the uncertainty pacing at the edge of his mind and exhaled slowly when Derek pushed inside him.

The pain of entry swiftly faded almost immediately to be replaced with an incredible feeling of _fullness_.  Jackson sighed when Derek began to move because his senses were opening entirely new sensations to him – all of it intense and powerful.  Derek smelled like nothing Jackson had ever experienced before – heat, lust and possession.  It was heady and overwhelming.  Jackson whined and his brain stuttered at the sound.  Submission – he felt like another presence lurked in his head demanding that he show his throat and nothing would feel more right.  Jackson opened his eyes and his breath failed him.

Derek couldn’t control the feeling growing within him – as he moved inside Jackson and heard the faint whine come from his husband’s throat, he arched his back, burying himself as deeply as he could – the feeling that he had to claim, to possess flooded him.

He growled, feeling his incisors lengthen and his entire body shift.  Jackson’s scent hit him and Derek realized he could pick out the various layers – Jackson’s arousal was the top note, then came _need_ … the need to be taken, to obey, to _submit_ hovered just below that and made Derek want to bite down hard into the smooth skin.  When Jackson tilted his head back and gave him a full view of his windpipe, Derek’s growl became decidedly predatory.  He heard the sharp intake of breath and locked eyes with Jackson.  The fear he expected wasn’t there – neither was the face he knew.  Jackson’s form had shifted … the snarling _almost_ wolf that looked back at him had luminous blue eyes.  Derek knew, somehow, that his own were sharp red.  He knew that he’d created the creature pinned beneath him -- Jackson would never be able to resist his command … in _anything_.

“Come,” Derek’s voice ordered.  It wasn’t human, not entirely.  It vibrated with the wolf and pack and all the blood that ran hot between them.

Jackson obeyed his alpha.

* * *

“What _are_ we, Derek?” Jackson asked softly.

The searing need to be claimed was gone, lingering warmth in its wake.  Jackson lay with his head pillowed on Derek’s chest.  The marks he’d created on Derek’s back with his unexpected claws were healed.  Derek had managed to refrain from biting into Jackson’s throat, but he’d held him in place later by gripping his nape with his teeth while he mounted and thrust into the younger man’s body.  The aftermath was stunned confusion and disbelief.  Derek wanted to reassure his love but nothing he knew had prepared him for this.

“I don’t know, Jax … it – werewolves don’t exist,” Derek murmured.  “How can they exist?”

“I feel like I _belong_ to you somehow,” Jackson said softly.  “But it’s not – it’s not like being _married_ to you … it’s just …”

“More like I gave birth to you …” Derek offered.

Jackson propped himself up on an elbow.  “Yes … like you _made_ me.  I don’t –“

Jackson’s fingers trailed over the bite mark on Derek’s chest and Derek instinctively grabbed the hand to stop it.  Jackson pulled away like he’d been burned, resentment and sudden shame filling him.  Derek growled and reached for him, but his husband moved away, his naked back turned to Derek.

“What if they’re telling the truth?” Jackson asked, his voice broken and full of tears.

Derek hung his head.  “I don’t know, Jax.  I don’t – I can’t reconcile what I _remember_ with what I’m … how I _feel_.  I love you … I _know_ I do.”

“Do you?  Or are you just remembering loving me?”  Jackson groaned, going to his knees with his hair fisted in both hands.

Derek knelt beside Jackson and pulled him against him.  He gently nuzzled Jackson’s temple as the other man sobbed.  He could feel the animal inside him pacing, confused and miserable.  He wanted to comfort Jackson but it was less as a lover and more as a … parent or a mentor.  Derek bit his lip until he tasted blood.  He loved Jackson … he could remember telling the young man over and over again throughout decades that he loved him and would never leave him.  Suddenly, the words seemed like just words without honest emotion behind them.  Derek held onto the shaking body and kept whispering “I love you.”  He didn’t know who he was saying the words to.


	4. Chapter 4

Jackson leaned back against Derek as the shower poured over them. Derek nuzzled against Jackson’s neck and inhaled. He was learning his new senses told him a lot about whoever he was scenting. He pressed a soft kiss to the warm skin.

“I love you, Jax. Please believe me,” Derek pleaded softly.

Jackson nodded but tears started again. He wiped at his eyes. “I don’t want it to be a lie.”

Derek’s hands slid up over Jackson’s chest, fingers moving over wet skin. “Do you remember when Eli was born? How little he was?”

Jackson exhaled and nodded. “He fit in your hand, he was so small. I was sure we were going to lose him.”

“You were at his side every chance you got. You held him –“

“You did too, Derek,” Jackson said quickly.

“Yes, I did … but I watched you hold our tiny little son against your chest and I thought my heart was going to burst with how much I loved you at that moment,” Derek murmured softly against Jackson’s ear. “I wanted twelve babies right that second because I knew you were going to be there through everything.”

Jackson looked down at Derek’s hand and lifted his left one, putting his own up beside it. “I said my vows and I put a ring on your finger, Derek. We don’t have rings … we never had rings. And –and those bites?”

Derek spun Jackson around to face him. He held the young man’s chin in his hands. The blonde hair plastered to his scalp made Jackson look even younger. Derek kissed him gently.

“I tried to remember the life they say we have here … I can’t find anything except for these little bits and pieces like the rings and the bites … all I know for certain is what I remember with _you,_ Jackson. I love you … I want you … so much, right now …”

Derek pressed kisses against Jackson’s mouth until his lover opened to him. They both groaned as their cocks brushed against each other. They both ignored the ‘off’ feeling they got as Jackson turned and gasped at soapy fingers finding their way into him. He moaned low and desperate as Derek slowly breached him. They moved in perfect counterpoint until Jackson whined and came against the tile with Derek growling and tensing a second later. After disengaging, Jackson turned in Derek’s arms and kissed the man slowly. His heart was thudding in his chest and a memory flared so bright it brought tears to Jackson’s eyes again.

“What, handsome? What’s wrong?” Derek murmured, his mouth lazily kissing over Jackson’s windpipe.

“My first time … it was you. I remember it was you,” Jackson said, his voice catching.

Derek looked up and met Jackson’s eyes. “In the locker room after my last game.”

Jackson nodded and Derek chuckled. “You were so fucking _hot_ …”

Jackson snorted. “Still am, thank you very much.”

“No disagreement here. You wanted me,” Derek murmured.

“Yep and knew how to get you to notice me, too,” Jackson laughed.

Derek looked into the blue-green eyes and the memories of that night came to him as clearly as if it had been yesterday.

“You were the cockiest little shit but I wanted you,” Derek recalled, licking a warm stripe up Jackson’s throat. “Walked right up to me naked as the day you were born and pulled off my towel … but you were shaking.”

Jackson growled softly with a gasp of pleasure. “I was scared you were going to turn me down … then I was scared you were going to take me up on the offer.” Jackson pulled back to look in Derek’s eyes. “I didn't think you'd go that slow ... be that gentle.”

Derek kissed the blonde as the water finally ran cold. “I knew it was your first time, Jax. Even if I didn’t think the locker room was the best place for it, I wasn’t going to turn you down.”

Derek reached behind Jackson and turned the water off. They gently dried one another off but when Derek ran the towel over Jackson’s back, he felt the sudden urge to lick his husband. He did so and the scent that spun up from the hot skin was tantalizing – a mixture of himself and Jackson. It spoke to Derek and told him that this man was _his…_ it didn’t matter what other confusing details they learned, Jackson was _Derek’s._ He dragged his tongue down Jackson’s spine and enjoyed the faint whining groan the younger man released.

“How does that make you feel?” Derek asked hoarsely.

Jackson looked over his shoulder. Derek felt something inside him spin in glee at the slackly open mouth and wide-blown pupils. Jackson was aroused but it was less sex and more … _possession_. He _wanted_ Derek to do what he was doing … he _wanted_ others to smell Derek on him. Derek took Jackson’s limp hand and led him into the bedroom. His husband did not resist as he arranged him on the rumpled sheets and proceeded to run his tongue over the tan body from forehead to foot on both sides. Jackson writhed at the sensation but it was mostly something in the back of his brain that told him it was _good_ to let Derek mark him as _his_. It was so strange yet not. Jackson’s mind worried at what they’d been told about being werewolves but Derek’s tongue along his cock made him forget even that.

* * *

Stiles stood on the loft balcony staring out across Beacon Hills. He could hear the voices in the main room behind him echoing out onto the ledge. He wiped at one eye and just kept staring at the buildings glinting in the sunlight. His eyes darted to the right when he heard footsteps. Jordan stepped up to the railing and leaned heavily on it, his head bowed. Stiles moved over and gripped the other man’s shoulder tightly. He said nothing. Jordan’s pain was Stiles’ own – they’d both watched Jackson walk into the loft all but preening beside Derek. Stiles had picked out the mark on Jackson’s throat immediately and Jordan had scented Derek all over his mate. Stiles had fled to the balcony but Jordan, ever the calmer head, had tried to endure. Apparently that hadn’t worked.

“Do I let him go?” Jordan asked raggedly.

Stiles shook his head. “Wish I knew. Do I? I don’t know if I _can_ , Jordan. He’s still _here_.” Stiles indicated his heart. “Two weeks he was lost to me and I thought I would die … now he’s here and I think I still might.”

Jordan nodded, wiping at his face. “The instincts are still there … I think his wolf knows Derek is his alpha. It’s just everything else that’s screwed up.”

“Stiles?”

Derek’s voice made Stiles’ heart jump. He turned to look at the man standing in the doorway and felt his throat tighten the way it always did. Dressed in a dark green Henley that made his eyes pop, jeans and his work boots, Derek just exuded good-looking confidence. What was missing, however … the one thing that made Stiles want to toss himself over the ledge right that very second … was the soft, adoring look his mate always got whenever they locked eyes. The look that told Stiles each and every time that he was _it_ … none of the things Stiles held against himself mattered to Derek. Derek’s wolf and his very human heart were completed by those aspects that Stiles considered weakness. In return, they gave Stiles the stability to be exactly who he was knowing there would always be someone to catch him or find him or just love him. Now, that was gone and Stiles felt the loss keenly.

“Yeah?”

“Deaton thinks … we need to talk alone for a while,” Derek explained.

Stiles nodded tiredly. “Yeah, ok. You want to stay here or go somewhere else?”

Derek shrugged. “Whatever you want … he thinks we should be away from Jax and Jordan.”

Jordan’s eyes slid shut at Derek’s casual use of Jackson’s nickname … something usually only _he_ got away with. Stiles’ hand on his shoulder tightened, telling Jordan he understood. Then the pressure was gone and Stiles stepped toward Derek.

“I’ll drive … I think I know a place that’ll work,” Stiles offered.

Stiles didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as they walked back through the loft to the door. He got to the Cruiser and climbed in only to pause when he noticed Derek was frowning at the door. Rolling the window down, Stiles cocked an eyebrow.

“Forget how to use the door?”

Derek’s glare was all too familiar. The other man ran his hand over the door. “Was … was this _blue_ once?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “It – I, uh … I have a blue Jeep. This is yours … I just borrowed it when you and Jackson … disappeared.”

Derek met Stiles’ eyes but said nothing else. He climbed in and put his seat belt on, looking out the passenger window. Stiles rolled it up and they drove off. He wasn’t sure what was louder – his heart slamming in his chest or the silence radiating from the man seated next to him.

* * *

Jordan led Jackson out to his squad car. He opened the door before catching himself.

“Sorry … I’m used to doing that,” Jordan explained before moving around the car.

“It’s fine,” Jackson said quietly. “Derek –“ Jackson shut his mouth and pulled the seat-belt across himself.

Jordan sighed. He gripped the steering wheel and looked over at Jackson. “Look … I’m not – I won’t lie and tell you I’m handling this well _at all_. But I’ve been in relationships before and I know enough to look at this from both sides. I only know _this_ reality, alright? So I’m going to say and do things you don’t know or remember. You only recall _that_ reality so you’re going to talk about things that have never occurred for me. And it’s going to piss us both off, I’m sure – but I don’t … I don’t want to spend every minute with you stumbling over what I say or having you stop talking in the middle of a sentence because you’re worried you’ll hurt me.” Jordan ran a hand over his face. “I know it’s killing Stiles and I’ve been holding myself back but I’m not going to anymore, Jackson because that’s not the way _we_ did things. You never hesitated to tell me when you thought I was an idiot and I did the same to you – for a while there people weren’t sure if we were in love or just planning to kill each other.”

Jackson snorted in spite of himself. “Sounds romantic.”

Jordan chuckled ruefully. “It worked for us. The make-up sex was pretty spectacular.”

Jackson looked out the passenger window watching the streets of Beacon Hills go by. “It was pretty damn good between me and Derek too.”

Jordan gnawed on his inner cheek and came to a decision. “Was it … _good_ between you two? You said you were married for how long?”

Jackson frowned and looked down at his hand. “Seventy-six years. And yeah … it was better than good … it was everything I ever dreamed it could be. Derek … it was harder when I started developing arthritis but he never gave up on me. I thought he’d stick my ass in a home and visit occasionally.”

“You had rheumatoid arthritis?” Jordan asked. “God, I can’t even imagine how hard that would be for you.”

Jackson let out a frustrated laugh. “Are we seriously  _having_ this conversation? I’m telling you about a life you say isn’t real and you’re acting like it might have happened.”

Jordan shrugged. “From what Deaton’s told us, for all intents and purposes it  _did_ happen, Jackson. Your mind creates your reality the Darach’s spell rewrote that reality in your head. It recreated all the sensations and sounds and emotions that go along with a memory … so for you and Derek? Yeah, all those years between you and Derek happened. Two weeks passed for me … a lifetime for you. Tell me about it?”

Jackson frowned but then leaned back and nodded. “What do you want to know?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events mentioned in this story are mostly from canon, but I'm not holding to the same timeline so a lot of it happened after everyone was out of high school. Let me know if you see a major conflict.

Stiles drove into the Preserve, his hands tightening on the steering wheel the closer they got to the spot he’d chosen.  Derek frowned in the passenger seat, looking around and trying reconcile what he was seeing with his memories.  He remembered the trees as much taller and fuller – he could see signs here of a recent fire with large swathes of trees reduced to black sticks poking up from the ground.  He rolled the window down and inhaled.

Stiles tried not to look over at Derek.  He tried to focus on what he intended to say but his entire body just wanted to stop the car and crawl into Derek’s lap.  Derek had been amused by the action during the early part of their relationship until he realized that it was Stiles’ desperate effort to ward off his panic attacks.  Head tucked under Derek’s chin, inhaling the spiced musk of his mate, Stiles felt safe and loved – it let his never-ending thoughts quiet for just a little while so when he emerged, he could study a problem with a calmer frame of mind.  In the years they’d been together, the attacks had practically disappeared but this situation was bringing them back full-force.

Derek could smell the misery on Stiles like the young man was wearing a coat made out of the stench.  It nauseated Derek but not because of the smell but because of what it _meant_.  For some reason, he felt pulled toward Stiles and wanted to protect him from … everything.  He looked around the interior of the vehicle and his eyes zeroed in on something.  He reached over and plucked something off the driver’s side visor.

The photo was worn on the edges, like it was handled frequently.  In it, he was sitting next to Stiles on the back bumper of a very battered blue Jeep.  Stiles head was on his shoulder and Derek’s rested on top of that – their hands were clasped between them.  It was obvious that they’d been through something, although Derek had no idea what.  The figures seemed … content with one another.

“Who … who took this?” Derek asked.

“Lyds … Lydia,” Stiles replied.  “She’s one of my oldest friends … and a banshee.  That was after the _kanima_ crap with Jackson.”

Derek frowned and shook his head with a huffed laugh.  “You talk about werewolves and banshees and whatever the hell a ‘ _kanima_ ’ is like they're everyday occurrences.”

“Yeah, well, around Beacon Hills they sorta _are_ ,” Stiles replied.  “So … we’re here.”

Derek tucked the photo back into the visor and got out.  Before him was the falling down rubble of a house.  Derek frowned and walked toward it.

“Who lived here?”

“You did.”

Derek looked back at Stiles, who was leaning against the Toyota with his hands jammed in his jacket pockets.  He looked back up and suddenly his brain began to fill in the blanks of the crumbled walls and broken glass.  His home.  His _family_.

“What?  No … wait, no that isn’t possible.  It was … no!”

Stiles swallowed hard watching Derek push the front door open and gape at the burned out husk of his one-time home.  He hadn’t been sure how the Darach had changed those memories but obviously Derek’s family hadn’t died in the spell-created dream.

“What … I don’t understand,” Derek said weakly.

Stiles came up beside him.  “A hunter named Kate Argent … she took advantage of you when you were younger.  She used you to get in close and then she did _this_.  I still don’t know what happened that day, you never told me and it doesn’t matter.  I know the aftermath.  You still blame yourself but you try to hide it from me.”

Derek looked bleakly at Stiles.  “Why … why would you show me this?  Why would I _ever_ want to remember … _this?_ ”

Stiles chewed on his lower lip and then ducked his head.  He shrugged.  “I don’t know … I thought – I thought maybe the shock would force you to remember.  Make you … bring _you_ back to me … _my_ Derek.  _My_ mate.”

Derek looked at him and stalked out of the house.  Stiles followed eventually, pausing only to look at one of the support posts beside the front steps.  Derek frowned when he saw Stiles looking at something there and walked back over.

“What are you – what’s there?” Derek asked.

“Nothing … it’s nothing,” Stiles replied.

Derek snorted.  “You lie for shit, kid.”

Stiles’ eyes were full of tears when he looked at Derek then.  “Yeah?  It’s because I can’t lie to you, asshole.  You’re my mate, but even before that … I couldn’t ever lie to _you_.  I never wanted to – I always wanted you to know what was going on in … with me.  I don’t know why, it was important to me.  It was … I just wanted you to know I was someone you could trust.  The one time I _did_ lie?  You nearly left me.”

“Left you?  What did you do?”

Stiles sat down on the steps.  “It wasn’t _me_ , really.  It was a Japanese trickster spirit and it lived off of strife and chaos.  It used me to create a hell of a lot of that.”  Stiles ran his hands into his hair and sighed.  “It … I told you I’d never really loved you, just fucked you because you were hot.  You didn’t believe me at first but I started giving examples … started pointing out all the times you thought I wasn’t strong enough for whatever we were facing and how pissed off that made me.  Which was true, but I knew _why_ you did it.  I knew it was the wolf needing to protect its own but the _nogitsune_ left all that out and just presented you with all the negative.”

Derek joined Stiles on the step.  “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you just fuck me because I was hot?”

Stiles colored to the tips of his ears.  “I thought you were hot for years.  Figured you’d never notice me.  Then after my last lacrosse game, senior year you … you came to the locker room.  You told me I was your mate and you’d wanted me for a long time.  We – it was my first time and – Derek?”

Derek paled as Stiles talked.  He stood and moved to look at the post.  In his head, he could see himself with a penknife, carefully carving letters into the wood.

**_‘DH + JH’_ **

Derek remembered putting it there the night he asked Jackson to marry him.  A promise of what their names would be … his mom had been irritated at him for carving up the post but his dad had reminded her of a certain stair banister.  His fingers trembled when he found the carving.  A strange three spiral plus the initials looked back at him.

**_‘DH + SS’_ **

“You carved it the same night you gave me your mark,” Stiles explained quietly.  “The spiral is called a triskelion -- it's a symbol used by werewolves and it can mean different things to each pack.  You said it meant Alpha, Beta, Omega and reminded you that each member of a pack is equal and can rise or fall accordingly.”

“I asked Jackson to marry me by this post and he kissed me like a drowning man,” Derek said hoarsely.  “I’d never imagined I’d have what my parents had … we wanted to have kids right away.  Eli was the first and I put his initials under this … all the kids have their initials carved on these posts.  All of them!”

Derek’s claws emerged and as he curled his fingers over the carving, he obliterated it.  Stiles bit back a sob.  He wiped at his eyes and stood, his brain catching something Derek had said.

“You said you wanted to have kids … were – were men able to give birth in your … in that world?”

Derek looked up with a frown.  “What are you talking about?  Of course not.”

Stiles’ jaw stiffened.  “Well they can here … in _this_ world.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?  That’s impossible.”

“Dude, werewolves, banshees, kanima – do you really think male pregnancy is so far out of the ordinary?” Stiles retorted.  He blushed again.  “It just takes a little … help.”

“Help?  What, more magic dust?”

Stiles’ face shut down and he walked back to the Cruiser.  Derek swallowed and followed him, his brain whirling a mile a minute. 

“I’m sorry … I just – do you know how insane you sound to me?”

Stiles leaned on his elbows on the hood, head down.  “Dude, I never thought I’d believe in all this shit either but I fell in love with a fucking werewolf after his then-insane uncle bit my best friend and made _him_ a werewolf.  If I listed all the crazy ass shit I’ve been through since Scott turned you’d see a guy having a baby isn’t that wild an idea.”

Derek leaned back and stared at the blue sky overhead.  He’d thought he could deal with being a werewolf – maybe.  He thought he could handle Jackson being one too – maybe.  But this?  He barked out an uneasy laugh. 

“So let me guess … I knocked you up?”

Stiles glared at Derek and was in his face a minute later, amber eyes flashing.  “Look, fucker, I get that you think all this is bullshit.  But in _my_ world you and me made a decision and we were going to _try_ – and no, I’m still just a human so it wouldn’t have worked on me.  Apparently, werewolves can sometimes change internally to support bearing pups if the pack is … barren.  So that means you would have been the barefoot and pregnant one, asshole.”

Derek watched Stiles climb back into the Toyota.  He went around to his side but before he got into the vehicle, he looked at the burned out house.  He ran his hand over his tight mid-section as he remembered the letters carved onto the post.  Derek got into the car and blew out a frustrated breath.  He put his hand on Stiles’ arm as the young man went to shift into drive.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to hurt you … I don’t _want_ to hurt you, Stiles,” Derek looked back out at the house.  “I don’t even know how to feel about all of this and the more I hear, the more I almost want to go back into whatever coma I was in.”  Derek’s eyes were glowing as his emotions flared.  “I _remember_ carving those letters but they were for Jackson.  I remember the locker room after the lacrosse game only it was _my_ last game and _Jackson_ came onto _me_.  I remember my mom … she was there for every baby and three grandbabies before she passed.  But now … _here_ … she’s dead and from what you say, I’m the reason.  God, Stiles … I remember holding all my babies in my hands and you’re telling me they never _existed_!  My _children_ never existed!”

Stiles reached across suddenly and grabbed hold of Derek’s ear, gripping it tightly.  At first, the man cursed loudly but then his wolf promptly sent him into a sideways, relaxed slump.  Derek groaned as Stiles folded himself over his mate and pressed his cheek to Derek’s. 

“You can kill me later,” he whispered.  “But you’re freaking out and you might shift if you don't chill … just take steady breaths.  Slow and easy.”

Derek followed Stiles’ movements as he breathed.  The knot in his chest eased but the tears came anyway.  He barely noticed when Stiles maneuvered over the console and straddled his thighs.  It just seemed right to clamp his arms around the young man’s torso and hold him tightly while dampening the front of Stiles’ shirt.  Stiles didn’t say anything.  He just let Derek hold him like he’d done so many times before in their relationship.  The wolf inside Derek stopped pacing and settled at last but the human side shook with a grief and loss it couldn’t understand.  The sun sank below the horizon and neither man cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ear thing is one way to steady a horse but you have to bite hard. So I decided to apply it to wolves ... I have no idea if real wolves use that technique in the wild to calm a pup down.


	6. Chapter 6

Jackson sat quietly on one end of the park bench while Jordan sat on the other.  He mulled over Jordan’s question about his life with Derek. 

“Jax?” Jordan asked, wincing when he realized he’d used the familiar nickname.

Jackson frowned but made a decision.  “Good a place as any to start – Derek called me Jax the first night we … you know.”

Jordan paled but nodded.  “I called you that because I knew you hated your first name.”

“Why would I hate my first name?” Jackson asked, confused.

“Your adoptive parents named you and you always said it sounded formal and uptight,” Jordan replied.  “I think it’s just a way to get back at David but you won’t ever tell me that.”

Jackson blinked.  “I’m adopted?  I’m not Gordon and Margaret Whittemore’s son?  Who the hell is David?”

“Gordon and Margaret _Miller_ were your biological parents.  They were in a car accident and your mother was kept on life support until you could be born via C-section.  David and Nona Whittemore adopted you,” Jordan explained.  “You, uh … you don’t get along with them.”

Jackson swallowed hard.  “I – I _loved_ my parents.  They were the best … we had like _nothing_ but they loved me.”

Jordan sighs.  “You didn’t grow up poor here, that’s for sure.  Your adopted parents are pretty well-off.  You used to have a Porsche and when I first met you, I don’t think you wore _anything_ that wasn’t designer label.”

Jackson frowns.  “A Porsche?  Geez … the most expensive car I ever owned was the Camry we bought once the kids were born.  Derek always had his pick-up and I had my old Mustang.”

“Mustang?”

The smile that goes across Jackson’s face is one of pride and Jordan is hard-pressed to hold himself in check.  He’s only seen that smile a few times when Jackson truly feels like he’s accomplished something worthwhile. 

“My baby … built her from the chassis up.  1968 390 V8 Ford Mustang GT fastback … took me _forever_ to get all the parts,” Jackson reminisces.  “I gave her to my oldest, Eli.  He was going to give her to – to his oldest.”

“Your grandson?”

“One of them,” Jackson confirms.

“Your family sounds like it had a lot of love in it,” Jordan observes.

Jackson nods.  “It did … I never imagined I’d have that ever.”

“Why not?  Sounds like your life was pretty much all about family from the get-go,” Jordan asks.

“It was … Derek’s too.  I just didn’t think I was worthy of that.  Of all that love,” Jackson says softly.  “It took me a long time to grow up and I know I hurt Derek along the way.  I couldn’t get it right.”

“Always selling yourself short,” Jordan says.  “Good to know that wasn’t just here.”

Jackson looks at him curiously.  “I’m like that here?”

Jordan blows out a soft breath.  “Babe, you never think you’re good enough for anything.  It took me forever to convince you that I really did want to claim you as my mate.  It’s why we fight so much – you have to be the best at everything or else you think you’re not ‘good enough’.  It’s hard to convince you over and over again that I love you more than I’ve ever loved _anyone_ in my life.”

Jackson looks at his tennis shoes.  “I – Derek says the same thing.  I don’t know why but I just … I used to worry a lot that he would figure out what a mess I was and leave.”

Jordan nods.  “I’ve had that discussion with you several times.  Did it ever sink in … in that other life?”

“Sort of?  After the kids came along we were pretty busy being parents … I didn’t have a lot of time to spend worrying about whether or not I was the best … I had to focus on just being there, whatever my ability.”

Jordan regards Jackson silently.  “You were probably a great dad.”

Jackson chuckles.  “I didn’t screw any of them up _too_ badly anyway.  They’re all … they were all ---“

Jackson looks up at Jordan and his eyes are full of tears.  He tries to wipe them away and buck up, but he can’t.  Jackson suddenly remembers every moment of holding his children and the way they sounded and smelled. 

“My babies … God, they’re all gone … all my children … my boys … my little girl …”

Jordan moves and pulls Jackson against him as the other man begins to sob in earnest as the reality he’s wanted to ignore sinks in.  Jackson goes willingly enough … his grief is too much to bear at the moment.  Jordan gently rubs his hands over Jackson’s back.

“I’m so sorry, Jax … I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Jackson pushes away but only gets a couple of steps before he falls to his knees and then curls forward until his forehead touches the ground.  Jackson hugs himself tightly.  When he feels Jordan’s broad hand slide over his spine, Jackson whines.

“What, babe?” Jordan asks, crouching beside Jackson.  “Talk to me.”

Jackson turns red, swollen eyes on the deputy.  “Why did you choose me?”

It’s not what Jordan is expecting and he blinks in surprise.  The answer, however, comes easily.  “Why _wouldn’t_ I choose you, Jackson?  Nevermind the good looks – everyone knows you’re easy on the eyes.  What not everyone knows – except maybe Lydia – is how you are on the other side of the wall you put up.  You let me show you off, yes … but when we’re alone?  God, I can’t believe you’re really my Mate some days.  You just seem to _know_ what to do whenever I walk in the door – leave me alone, ask about my day, tackle me to the floor and ride me till we’re both worn out – you just _know_.  And you’re so fucking smart.  I talk to you about whatever’s going on at work and one, I know you’ll keep your mouth shut about it, but two, you see things I miss.  Or you know how to calm me down when we’ve had a really bad call.  You take care of me like no one ever has before.  I miss it.  I miss it so much it feels like I can’t breathe sometimes, Jax.”

Jackson’s ears are still red but he has a tiny smile tugging at his lips.  It fades as the weight of what lies before them hits him. 

“I don’t … I don’t know what to do,” Jackson admits.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jordan gives up and kisses the man he used to sleep beside.  He nuzzles gently against a spot just beneath Jackson’s jaw and smiles at the sharp indrawn breath and the sudden tension in the lean body.  Apparently dream-Derek never knew about that particular spot.  He mouths his way to Jackson’s ear and whispers.

“I will never stop loving you, Jax.  You’re my beautiful wolf … forever.”

For the first time since regaining consciousness, Jackson doubts the life he’s believed was his.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning ... part of this might seem non-con. Derek exerts his influence over two individuals who may or may not be able to resist him. He doesn't do it to be abusive but the consent is questionable. Fair warning.

The first thing Derek scented when Jackson entered the hotel room was Jordan.  His wolf reacted immediately and violently.  Stalking across the room, Derek pulled Jackson to him and pressed his nose against the younger man's neck.  He inhaled deeply while Jackson struggled in his grip.  Then he licked.   The flat of his tongue rasped over the skin covering Jackson's windpipe and up to his jawline.  It continued over Jackson's cheek and over his left eye until it reached his husband's hairline. 

Jackson struggled to pull away when Derek grabbed him.  He couldn't help his reaction -- Jackson was beginning to understand that werewolves were territorial to the nth degree and alphas were the worst of all.  What if his stolen kiss with Jordan set Derek off so badly the alpha hurt his mate?  Jackson even wondered briefly if werewolves killed their mates sometimes.  And then Derek licked him.

At first, it was disgusting but Jackson's wolf quickly rectified that notion -- the burning sensation that followed was as though Derek was dragging flaming oil across Jackson's skin with his tongue.  The blonde werewolf gasped and his hands, initially pushing Derek away, gripped the alpha suddenly.  Jackson jerked Derek to him and tilted his head back with a low moan. 

Everything was so much _more_ now -- Jackson's werewolf senses dragged him along into a swirling stream filled with emotion and pleasure.  He gladly slipped beneath the surface but something darker resided at the bottom.  Something that wrapped a long, slimy tentacle around him and tugged, testing his strength, testing his resolve.  Jackson was suddenly terrified. 

"N-no ... _no!"_ Jackson yelled, jerking away from Derek and scrambling to put space between them.

Derek cocked his head in a way that would have been comical any other time.  He whined, reaching for Jackson who shied away from the touch.  It didn't look like Derek's hand.  Instead, he could only see the tentacle covered in what looked like tiny, fang-filled mouths.  When it wrapped around his chest, Jackson screamed in agony as a thousand razor sharp teeth bit into his skin.  His eyes rolled up into his skull and he collapsed.

* * *

"What the _fuck_ did you do to my mate?" Parrish snarled, his face inches from Derek's.

"Enough!" Scott barked.  "Parrish, the question has been asked and answered -- you can hear as well as I can that he's _not_ lying.  Let him be or leave!"

Parrish growled but backed off, his eyes gleaming flame orange.  Jackson lay on the hotel bed, unconscious.  Deaton was running his hands through the air only inches over Jackson's body.  Words no one could make out were murmured in a soft chant and the supernatural members of the room could just make out a green aura surrounding Jackson. 

Derek watched from the corner, chewing anxiously on a thumbnail.  Jordan had retreated only to the foot of the bed where he sat, unable to take his eyes off his mate.  Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to grab Jackson and run them both to a safe place.  Where that might be was a bit beyond him right now, but it would be away from Derek.  Away from the interloper whose scent was all over Jackson in a way it should _never_ be.  Jordan looked over at Stiles who was sitting on the room's small sofa, hands clenched tightly together.  It occurred to Jordan that the young man, human though he might be, was feeling the same urge to separate Derek and Jackson.

"Stiles," Jordan barked, snapping the young man out of his thoughts.  "Take Derek and get back to the loft.  There's nothing more you can do tonight."

Stiles stood and looked uncertainly at Derek who stepped away from the wall with a shake of his head.

"I'm not leaving my hus -- my ma -- I'm not leaving Jackson," Derek stumbled out.

Jordan snorted.  "You can't even say it with a straight face because you know it isn't true.  He's not _yours_ ... he's _mine_ and I'm done playing this game.  You belong with Stiles.  Go home ... _your_ home."

Derek's growl was an instant threat and Scott was suddenly there between the two beings claiming Jackson as their own.  Derek looked at the young werewolf and was startled to see red eyes glowing back at him. 

"You're an alpha?  But I thought --"

"I'll explain later but right now?  You need to go," Scott insisted.  When Derek only growled again, Scott returned the sound and Derek found himself uneasy.  " _Go_ Derek ... Jackson is in safe hands.  Parrish would die before he let anything happen.  Whether or not you believe the rest, you _know_ that's true."

Derek looked over Scott's shoulder at Parrish.  "Your word?"

Parrish's eyes, gleaming hot in the dim light of the room, narrowed.  "I swore my life to him the day we mated.  I'll end _anyone_ who tries to hurt him.

* * *

Stiles drove silently.  Derek could smell the aching disappointment on the young man and he knew it was his fault.  Again.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?  He's your mate.  Only natural you'd want to protect him."

"I'm sorry it hurts you."

Stiles shrugged.  "Hey, it's all good.  Deaton's a pro.  He'll get him all fixed up and you can go live your wolfy dream life with Jackson in this reality."

Derek growled in frustration.  "That's not fair, Stiles."

Stiles had pulled into the parking area in front of the building he'd called home for so long.  He jerked the Cruiser into a spot and slammed it into park, turning off the engine.  He pulled out the keys and then threw them into the windshield with a shout.

"None of this is _fair_ , Derek!  None of it!  I had the one person I ever loved in my life ... Jackson had his one and only ... we were _happy_ , damn it!  For the first time in all our lives, we were happy.  It wasn't perfect -- Jordan and Jackson fight like cats and dogs and you still have nightmares about losing your family but none of the other shit mattered.  The deaths, the weirdo supernatural stuff that this town attracts, none of it -- because I had you and -- oh god, I had _you --_ "

Stiles opened his door and fell out onto the pavement, his breath suddenly coming in short painful gasps as steel bands seemed to constrict around his chest.  The world was too big and too small all at once and Stiles couldn't pull in enough air to fill his lungs.  He clawed at his shirt, trying to pull it off when strong hands gripped his wrists and he felt himself being lifted up off the ground and held like a small child against a hard torso.

Stiles instinctively wrapped his legs around Derek's midsection and his arms around the werewolf's neck.  He gulped in deep draughts of air as he heard a deep voice softly speaking to him.

"Easy ... easy ... in and out ... follow me ..." Derek said.

The chest he was pressed against expanded and then collapsed as Derek took a deep, measured breath.  Stiles rode the movement, matching his own inhalation to it.  A few more times and he could feel control slowly starting to reassert itself and the overwhelming sense of doom faded slightly.  He didn't realize he was shaking until Derek's hand drifted up and down his spine. 

"It's ok.  You're ok.  I'm here," Derek murmured, walking them into the building and into the freight elevator.

Stiles knew he should let go and stand on his own, but after their moment in the Cruiser at the old house, Stiles wanted so desperately to feel his wolf wrapped around him.  Protecting him like he always did.  He pressed his nose to the warm skin just above Derek's Henley collar.  The werewolf tensed but didn't make a move to let go.

Sliding back the loft door, Derek entered and glanced around.  He made a questioning sound.

"Peter went to his home," Stiles explained.  "No offense, but I can only take so much of the guy, uncle or no."

Derek nodded and carried Stiles up the staircase without being asked.  He frowned and Stiles pointed to their room.  Derek walked in and froze.

The scent in the room was very obviously Stiles but intertwined with what Derek knew was his own scent.  He let the human slide out of his arms, but when Stiles went to move away, Derek's hand snapped out and trapped Stiles' wrist.

"We ... I can smell _us_ here," Derek murmured wonderingly.

Stiles tugged his arm.  "Well, yeah ... it's our bedroom.  Who else would it smell like?"

Derek shook his head.  "No ... it's more than that ... I smell ..."  He lifted Stiles' arm and sniffed at the soft underside of the young man's wrist.  He could smell the blood in the veins so close to the surface there but he mostly smelled something that said _Mine_. 

Derek licked tentatively at the veins and Stiles groaned.  "No, um ... Derek, wait ..."

Derek ignored the soft plea and did it again.  Stiles' eyes rolled in their sockets, showing white.  Derek scented arousal and saw the bulge in Stiles' jeans.  His own erection made its presence known a minute later.  He growled.

Stiles went unresistingly into Derek's embrace and opened to the kiss that threatened to burn them both to ash.  Derek felt wild and out of control as he had with Jackson, but this was so much stronger.  He maneuvered Stiles to the bed and had him spread-eagled.  He ran a hand down the length of the body under him and his wolf did backflips at the moaning response it pulled out of Stiles. 

Derek leaned down to kiss Stiles when a cold feeling began to bleed into his body.  He whined, not liking the feeling.  He opened his eyes to look at Stiles when the feeling worsened.  He could see concern and love in the amber eyes and Derek knew somehow that he could trust these things to be true.  He knew Stiles loved him.  The ice reached his chest and Derek gasped at the pain.  He shook his head and reared back, fingers clawing at his heart.  Derek only vaguely registered Stiles' screaming his name before the darkness enveloped him in freezing waters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, my darlings, but I'm slowly making my way through my many WIPs . . . thanks to everyone who keeps reading!

Stiles studied the bound and motionless body of his mate laid out on a table in Deaton’s vet clinic like some sort of horrible Christmas turkey. A faint smile tugged at his mouth while he gently ran his fingers through the thick, dark hair and trailed them along the neatly trimmed beard bordering a familiar jawline.  Sense memories drifted to the fore of Stiles’ mind – memories of lazy mornings lying in bed talking about nothing; long nights sitting in the Preserve watching the moon travel across the sky; stolen fevered moments wrapped around one another whispering devotion into each other’s skin – all snapshots of a life shared and cherished.  All instances stolen from Stiles’ mate.

Stiles eyes remained dry and focused. The ache in his chest went ignored.  Stiles had buried his grief and fear as deep as he could the previous night -- it would only distract him from this last opportunity to rescue Derek and Jackson.  What he kept, however, was the memory of how meeting Derek during a fateful walk in the woods had changed his entire life.  Oh, he’d been well on his way to discovering the supernatural world but what neither of them had realized was that the perfect match to their souls’ jagged edges had been found.  And once they finally acknowledged their feelings, the bond formed made them stronger and better because of all the scars.

Stiles gave a curt nod to no one in particular and squeezed Derek’s hand.

“You’re mine and I’m yours, sour wolf. Me and Jordan … we’re going to bring you and Jackson home.  That bitch can’t have you,” Stiles muttered darkly.

“You heard him, beautiful. I don’t care what I have to do, I’m coming to get you,” Jordan promised.

“Stiles …”

Stiles looked up at the pained voice. Years and too many dark adventures had pulled Stiles away from his onetime best friend, Scott but young alpha werewolf was still the brother of Stiles’ youth.  Scott looked deeply uneasy as Deaton completed preparations for the ritual and Stiles couldn’t blame him.  Stiles remembered all too well what had happened the _last_ time they used the tubs of ice water.  Breaking Derek’s heart had been the very _least_ of what havoc the _nogitsune_ had wrought.  And now they were about to open the same door.

“We haven’t got a choice, Scott. You know that,” Stiles reasoned.

Scott looked down at the water. “There’s always a choice … there _has_ to be another way.”  The young wolf’s shoulders slumped.  “What if – what if you don’t come back?” Scott’s voice broke. 

Stiles smiled sadly. “Then you tell my dad I love him and that I had to try – he’ll understand.”

Scott’s head snapped up. “ _I_ don’t understand, Stiles!  You could die – you might end up trapped with them!”

“I’d rather be trapped there with Jackson than out here without him,” Jordan said quietly.  Scott crossed the room, pushing into Jordan’s space, his eyes flashing red.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!  You don’t even know where they are!”

Jordan’s eyes gleamed orange in response. His voice was a sharp growl when he said, “ _You’re_ the one who doesn’t understand, McCall.  You may love Kira but you haven’t _mated_ that little _kitsune_ of yours.  Call me when you do and tell me then if you can breathe when she’s hurting, when she’s in danger.”  Jordan stepped back and took a few deep breaths.  He shook his head and looked over at Stiles.  “Are you still in?”

Stiles gripped Scott’s shoulder and forced him to turn. “Scott … you have to let us do this.  We might fail.  But if we don’t try, it’s a certainty that you’ll have four funerals to attend – that’s not me being overly dramatic, it’s just the plain truth,” Stiles assured his friend.  “I’m all open to trying something else, buddy.  Believe me, I don’t want to go there any more than you want me to go – but we both know there isn’t another option.”  He sighed.  “Just … just look after my dad if something happens, ok?  Tell him I love him – that he was the best dad anyone could ever ask for even if we didn’t always get along.”

Scott returned the hug so tightly, Stiles felt his ribs creak. After being part of a pack for so long, he was used to it.

“Don’t be stupid – you’ll tell him yourself when you get back.”

* * *

Settling into the ice water was harder than Stiles remembered from his last foray into the ritual. Tremors that had little to do with the frigid temperature began to ripple through his body.  Bits of memory from the _nogitsune_ began to flash through his mind.  Stiles’ breathing was coming faster and faster even as he fought to regain control of his descent.  His body soon caught up and he started losing feeling in his legs making the shaking even worse.  Stiles clenched his eyes shut.

_I can do this. I have to do this.  I have to bring Derek back to me.  I can do this._

Numb or not, Stiles nearly leapt out of the tub when someone climbed in beside him.

“What the – what are you doing?!” Stiles demanded as Jordan maneuvered them so he was sitting behind Stiles. His arms tightly wrapped around the younger man.  His breath was hot against Stiles’ ear.

“This crew has done enough solo sacrifice missions – we anchor each other and we bring them back together, got it?”

Stiles swallowed hard and nodded. The shivering eased enough that he could say, “Our wolves are waiting for us.”

Deaton began to read from his book and the pair slid beneath the icy water.

* * *

“Derek? _Derek!_ ” Jackson screamed.

Jackson wore his old lacrosse uniform down to the mask, gloves and stick. He was long past the point where he tried to understand exactly _why_ he’d regressed to his teenage self.  The young wolf was well into blind panic as instinct drove him to find his alpha.

Sweat ran down Jackson’s face, stinging his eyes and forcing him to blink madly as he pounded through e halls of his old high school, desperately calling out for his husband. He knew things weren’t the way they should have been – he felt like he’d been running for hours and while he was soaked with his breath coming in short, painful gasps, he hadn’t collapsed.   Even a werewolf did not have unlimited stamina so he should have been on the ground by now but somehow he just kept going.

Around Jackson, thick roots and vines slithered up the walls, punching through plaster and crashing through ceiling tiles. The floor bulged and cracked as tendrils broke through, sinuously reaching toward the ceiling.  Lockers doors slammed and were torn off hinges as the relentless onslaught of vegetation forced them to give way.  Jackson’s rational mind wouldn’t let him accept the nightmare around him.

“Just a dream …. Just a dream … just a dream …” he repeated with a voice that trembled in fear. “Please Derek … please let this just be a dream … please …”

Tears mixed with the rivers of sweat coursing down his cheeks. Jackson gripped his stick tighter as he noticed the way through the halls seemed to be narrowing.  He groaned and ran harder.  The ground beneath him heaved and Jackson stumbled, nearly falling.  He managed to stagger around a corner before coming to an abrupt halt … because the floor beneath him was gone.

In front of him gaped a seething pit of writhing vines twisting and braiding themselves into a hideous web. Jackson felt the tips of his cleats slide over the edge and his stick went flying into the air as he frantically spun his arms to keep himself from falling.  The lacrosse stick landed in the midst of the slickly twisting mess and tendrils immediately wrapped around it.  They wove themselves into the net and abruptly pulled it apart with a splintering snap.  The bits and pieces left were swallowed into the darkness beneath.  The constantly shifting vines shuddered and suddenly tiny green bumps began to appear along the trailing stems.  Jackson gripped the edge of the wall and stared in growing horror as the bumps appeared along the entire length and swelled like pustules.  The color shifted from pale green to gray to watery lavender until finally they split open into dark purple blooms and a sickly sweet fragrance filled the air.  Wolfsbane.

That alone would have been enough to make Jackson cry out in fear but it was the other dark surprise the blossoms revealed that had him screaming. Within the center of each wet, twisted clutch of petals emerged a person’s visage – Lydia, his parents, coach Finstock, Jordan, Derek – the features melting like was and reforming into another face from Jackson’s life.  Teachers, relatives, students, barely remembered strangers … the parade was endless and they were all sneering and yelling.  All of the faces were warped and angry.  The sheer volume was enough to make Jackson fall back and tear off his helmet so he could cover his ears.

_“… horrible in bed … pathetic on the field … should have adopted a different baby … waste of the Bite … worthless … waste … useless … loser … joke … fake … worthless … worthlessworthlessworthlessworthless …”_

Jackson shifted, his head craned back as long black claws descended and his eyes flared a luminous blue. His howls echoed into the void.


End file.
